


Highest Honour

by 24parts



Category: South Park
Genre: Canon Compliant, Childhood, Ficlet, M/M, Roleplay, South Park: The Stick of Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6928039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/24parts/pseuds/24parts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Though you may not share our blood, you have fought valiantly for this kingdom, loyal ranger, and today, we shall honour your noble sacrifices.“ Kyle hesitates for a second, and then clears his throat and adds, "For the fifth time.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Highest Honour

   Dusk is fading to the pale lilac of twilight when the ceremony begins.

   Stan imagines the great forest kingdom falling to quiet all around them. The soldiers resting in the barracks and the peasants home with their families, breaking bread around stone fireplaces. In Kyle’s domain – (Stan will have to ask later if it’s a palace, or a temple, or a grove) – the world is silent, and the High Elf’s attention is reserved only for one.

   In reality, everyone else was called home for dinner. Stan is expected home soon, too, but he doesn’t mind being late for the sake of a royal appointment.

   "Ranger Stan,” Kyle announces, peering down from his throne. His staff is held, slackly, in one hand; his chin is raised, his back straight, as though proving his authority to an audience. Stan adjusts his fantasy to account for this; instead of being alone, they’re surrounded by stoic archers, all guarding without voyeuring, so unimportant to either of them that they are effectively invisible as they are in the real world. “As you know, you have been called to this court today to receive a special commendation for your incredible bravery in combat.”

   Stan nods once to show his understanding. He tries to look stoic too, with his sword over his chest and his mouth set in a frown. He wishes Sparky would stay by his side to complete the picture, but he has already wandered off, distracted by a candy wrapper someone left in the grass on the other side of the garden.

   "Though you may not share our blood, you have fought valiantly for this kingdom, loyal ranger, and today, we shall honour your noble sacrifices.“ Kyle hesitates for a second, and then clears his throat and adds, "For the fifth time.”

   "Thank you, High King.“ Stan finds that his voice comes out a little too loud, and a little stilted, betraying his nerves and the fact that he’s never been as good at roleplaying as Kyle is, not really. But that’s why Kyle is the leader of the drow elves when Stan couldn’t even commit to playing as anything but a human, and Stan finds that he likes it better this way. He’s Kyle’s right-hand man, (technically his left-hand man, but that’s even better), his bodyguard, as important a piece on the chessboard as any other.

   And he finds it that much easier to slip into Kyle’s world when they’re alone.

   Kyle gestures to the grass in front of his throne, as usual. "Please kneel.”

   Wordlessly, Stan does. He drops down to one knee, and bows his head, waiting for Kyle to proceed with the ritual. Kyle likes to draw it out with a speech every time, maybe to make it feel more real, like Stan has actually done something to affect the world around them, and Kyle is actually rewarding him in a way that other people will respect.

   And yet, Stan is aware that no-one else knows about this. It’s their secret, and Kyle doesn’t issue this particular medal of honour to any of his other soldiers.

   "And your helmet, if you please.“ Kyle wrinkles his nose. "Sorry, did that sound mean?”

   "It was fine,“ Stan says, and takes his helmet off, holding it beneath one arm. "Keep going.”

   "Okay. Right.“ Kyle closes his eyes for a second, and then continues. "Stan. No, Ranger Stan,” he  stumbles, because maybe he gets nervous too, “you have spilled your very blood for this kingdom.” With his staff, he points towards the band-aid on Stan’s left arm, which is covering a scratch he got from tripping over a rock at the park. It made him the only casualty from the day’s fierce showdown with the pirates. Stan didn’t even cry, but Kyle is looking at the band-aid as solemnly as he would if Stan had sacrificed an entire limb. “For this, I will give you the rarest token of gratitude that a ranger can receive from a High Elf. So… here I go.”

   Stan tries – and fails – to keep a straight face when Kyle hops down from his throne and takes a step towards him. He hopes it’s not noticeable, with his head down like this, and he manages to compose himself just a split second before he feels the pads of two of Kyle’s fingers under his chin, urging him to look up. Not up at Kyle, but just barely encouraging him to tilt his head, slightly, with his eyes closed. Stan imagines that this is some kind of drow elf sign of respect, culturally, but really he just likes to savour this without seeing. To be more than aware of the smell of snow-damp grass and the chill of sunset and the firm, and only very slightly wet, press of Kyle’s lips to his forehead. There for three heartbeats, and then gone again.

   When Stan blinks open his eyes, Kyle is still standing there, watching him.

   It’s unexpected. Usually Kyle scrambles back up to his chair and completes the ceremony with another speech about honesty and virtue in the face of overweight, manipulative wizard-kings and conniving princesses, and then invites Stan to break bread with his kin, if his mom says it’s okay.

   This time, he stays, and he crouches to look Stan in the eyes.

   If averting his gaze in the presence of his king is respect, then Stan is being very disrespectful in the way that he is staring back, but he can’t help it. Kyle is cast in the light which emanates from the windows of his house, creating an aura about him that looks almost otherworldly. Holy, even. Stan can sense it, too. His forehead tingles where Kyle’s lips touched it, as though he has been blessed.

   And this is not in character. A king doesn’t kneel – or crouch – before his subjects. But possibly for the first time in his life, Stan can’t tell what Kyle is thinking. His face is blank, unreadable, and yet he’s clearly deep in thought, the whole thing giving the impression that whatever he’s considering, it’s on another plane from what Stan could ever understand.

   The moment stretches on and they’re never this quiet. Stan’s mind races. The hand that isn’t holding his sword gropes in the grass for purchase. If Kyle decided to instate a new badge of honour, a kiss more like equals, a true communion – in the real world, the only witnesses would be a gay dog and the indigo sky.

   They don’t have the stick, but Kyle can do whatever he wants within his own kingdom; and even if he couldn’t, Stan would tell no-one. If he can keep a secret five times, he can keep it six.

   "Are we still playing?“ Stan asks in a whisper, afraid to break the silence but just as afraid of kneeling here all evening under the pretence of a game, until his parents call from over the fence, until he has to go.

   His heart hammers in his chest, his mouth dry. He hopes they aren’t still playing. He’d never play this game again if that was what it took. If this means what he thinks it means.

   "I don’t know,” Kyle says, raw and just as quietly, and he doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t move away.


End file.
